the mornings stood still with dew
our laughter rising before the sun
we crowded the cracked sidewalk edges
waiting for the rumble to appear
here comes the b-u-s we sang
our voices spilling into the street
and the melody became our anthem
a hymn of backpacks and sharpened pencils
Saint Louis King of France awaited us
Sister Paula Marie in flowing habit
ushering us into hushed wooden desks
where allegiance followed seated prayers
we were too young to know ceremony
but the rhythm of routine held us
and between silent words in clasped hands
we learned how to belong to a time